Location: The CravatTime: N/A. (Though for all intents and purposes it is morning.)

This morning, as with many mornings, Gabe's first thought was one word. This one word was 'coffee.' He carefully extricated himself from his and Jeannot's bed, making sure not to wake his love as he did. He left the room quietly and went down the stairs, looking for any new room, hopefully one containing a coffee-maker and some grounds. As luck ((or possibly the BC's inherent MKCSR powers)) would have it, the first room he decided to explore was the kitchen, the coffee-maker on the counter like a gift from G-d. He only had to look through two cupboards before finding the coffee grounds and cups, and he set about making it, humming Chelsea Hotel #2 very loudly to himself. Once done, he sat upon the counter, impatiently watching it percolate.

"No," Holmes agreed, "he's not, but that's hardly the subject at hand." He nursed his coffee for a moment before adding, broodingly, "I suppose I shall just have to apologize." The mere word sent shivers down his spine.

"Why?" Gabe asked, climbing on to of the counter again and sitting cross-legged, nursing his coffee. "He's the one who dumped you and ran off to get married. What you did hardly counts as infidelity, and he's stupid to think so."

Holmes looked blank for a moment, then shook his head and went back to the coffee. "Infidelity, no, but it will still make him angry. And there's really nothing for it." He winced, having burnt his tongue. "I will admit, though," he continued, "that I don't really mind apologizing to him."

"Hopefully not, because if he is," Gabe warned, "I'm not sticking around to disarm him, and if he hurts Jean I will hurt you." He smiled, though he wasn't really joking. "On that note, you lose pistol privileges the second you start going through withdrawal. We don't want you shooting anyone, yourself included."

((I think we should just replace 'excellent' with 'superexcellent' every time one of them tries to say it.))

"Oh, probably," Gabe agreed. "But that doesn't mean it's not going to be nasty. Hopefully Watson's medical profession will force him to stop throwing shoes at you at least long enough hold your head over the toilet." He fully intended never to let the Left Shoe Incident die.

"Amusement swells unabashedly in my breast," Holmes groused, returning to the coffee. "I assume you're going to start referring to it as the Left Shoe Incident, and then never let me forget it, aren't you?"

"I am now," Gabe admitted. "You're gotta admit that it's pretty funny, especially since it's Doctor John fucking Watson we're talking about. Not just any man throwing shoes at his ex-boyfriend, no." He laughed, shaking his head. "It's Doctor John Watson throwing shoes at The Great Sherlock Holmes." He was pretty sure it would never actually stop being funny, though he managed to quiet his laughter.

"It would've been both if you hadn't run away so quick," Gabe replied. "Did he hit you, by the way? With his 'superexcellent aim'?" He wasn't sure why he'd said 'superexcellent.' It had seemed like the thing to do.